The Devil's Due
by horatiohappened
Summary: One clawed hand traced the parameter of a window - in betwixt and in-between - and peered upon the figures.


Life is fragile.

It is in what one believes to be their last moments, that they show the greatest degree humanity. They cling to one another or curse a Creator they are not even sure exists. Screams and tears or total shut down. Helping or throwing into the frying pan to save one's own hide. This is the gritty side of human nature. This is a picture too often broadcast and witnessed by an onlooker in depths beyond the our physical realm in an augmented reality.

One clawed hand traced the parameter of a window - in betwixt and in-between - peering through upon the figures.

The sky dark. The moon aglow. A figure, dark and thin, hunched over in the corner on a metal frame. Lightning flashes, the figure rises and looks out as a scream resonates through the air. A cold sweat breaks out over their skin, and they run. They run and as they do they sling a cloak over their thin frame. Out into the storm, into the howling wind, towards the scream. All too familiar the pitch. In the moonlight her emerald skin glows ethereal aided by the drops of water that stain her skin crimson.

A trick of the spectrum.

She sprints. Breath curling in a cloud in front of her, heart pounding in her ears so violently she believes it may leap from her chest. But she sprints. Through the darkness and the rain. the screams begin to fade and panic sets in - adrenaline rushes through her bloodstream, causing her skin to prickle and her hearing to strain. Then she spots it, the lace of an all too familiar frock hooked onto the branch of a nearby shrub.

Panting. She pants and gasps, clinging to the lace so hard her emerald palms begin to bleed beneath the dark nails which inhabit the appendages sprouting therefrom.

Piercing blue eyes follow the metal barrel of the weapon aimed at the their head. Fabric strewn here and there around the environment. Remnants of a once beautiful gown now tattered in a morbid reenactment of "Cinderella" - in place of the sisters, the woman's attacker. Rage had led the victim astray, defying the gravity of the situation in place of a firework of emotion taking tide over reason.

Fury led to rash decisions.

Rash decisions led to bad company.

Bad company led to maleficent deeds fueled by thirst for power over a weaker, vulnerable soul.

She could blame it on the saffron cream. The blood that stained the lace partition between her skirting a warm reminder of pain caused by trusting others too easily. Scars still remained from the last time she was cornered like this. The saffron cream and wine flowing sparked passion in the unlikeliest of places, and her fear now left her defenseless on the ground in the middle of a storm. The light of the blade and the initial slice released a scream which tore from the woman's throat. In pure shock, she had hardly control over the sounds she emitted as she ran for her life in the middle of the cursed storm. In face of the device that could kill at a range, however, she found she fell silent.

**Footsteps.**

They advance in the distance. She listens. They get closer and the get closer, barely distinct from the sound of the rain hitting the ground around her but oh so definitely there. Fear attunes the senses threefold. She must believe, she has to, for the sake of what is left of her sanity at this moment.

Lightning flashes around them, three figures in the moonlight beneath the bell tower. Surroundings momentarily revealed as the winds themselves bring to life the inanimate around them. Trees howl, benches groan, and leaves whisper as if afraid to be heard.

The assailant advances.

The shadow moves.

Blue eyes shine.

Locked onto the stranger are the chocolate brown orbs that glint briefly as the bell tower grows closer to striking the hour. The shadow moves carefully, precarious to be noticed even amidst the naturally occurring chaos that surrounds them. Closer, ghosting across the sodden surface towards the weapon, the shadow moves with an outstretched hand. It is then she is spotted.

Blue eyes lock on to brown as the Emerald girl leaps to disarm the assailant with gun aimed towards the ragged creature on her knees. In one glance more is conveyed than any number of words could permit in this moment though there is one message clear - "sorry." An apology for all harsh words, all brash actions and misdemeanor that led up to the events unfolding around them, in which they star in a morbid rendition of some fable passed through the generations. A clean slate, if the damsel is saved.

A **crack** breaks through the air itself, and there is a flash.

All is silent.

A **squall** fills the emptiness.

_Darkness takes all_.


End file.
